Elder Scrolls V Skyrim: Legacy of the Dragonborn Chapter I
by SC0RP10
Summary: The land of Skyrim is in turmoil. In the midst of this conflict, a far more dangerous, ancient evil is awakened. Dragons, once lost to the passages of the Elder Scrolls, have returned to Tamriel. The future of Skyrim, even the Empire itself, hangs in the balance as they wait for the prophesized Dragonborn; a hero born with the power of The Voice that can stand amongst the dragons.


Author: Bryce Langley

Creator: Bethesda Game Studios

 **The following is a fan-based fan-fiction. I do not own any of the images used in my published material. Elder Scrolls V Skyrim and all other Elder Scrolls games and official characters are all owned by Bethesda. Please support their official release. Thanks to Skyrim Wikipedia page for providing timeline information for the prologue. Enjoy!**

Chapter I

 _A New Beginning_

It was the familiar sound of the birds crooning and the leaves rustling in the green canopy above that roused the boy from his deep slumber. Sunlight pierced through the thick foliage, leaving a gentle kiss of warmth on his exposed cheek.

He rubbed his eyes languidly, shielding them from the sun's harsh light. The branch he lay upon creaked in protest as he shifted his weak body. He sat up slowly, flinching in pain from the discomfort of his sleep. His dark, raven black hair was a tangled mess and matted. Dried blood glued his bangs to his forehead. His clothes were shredded rags, cached with mud and other earthly debris. His feet, coated in blisters and cuts, he had wrapped with torn fragments of his clothes held together with the two strands of rope that had been previously worn as a belt. His entire body was covered with large contusions and cuts, including a rather large laceration on his right thigh. This, he kept wrapped tightly with a ribbon of his clothing. The cut looked grotesque.

The boy suddenly became aware of his intense dehydration as he swallowed dryly. He sat up with a bit of difficulty, and gazed at the beautiful setting that surrounded him. Leaves were strewn all throughout the floor of the woods, and two squirrels chased each other playfully in a nearby tree, jumping nimbly from one branch to another. He felt the familiar presence of a gentle breeze nuzzling his cheeks. The trees and branches swayed, the leaves rustling excitedly. He closed his eyes and smiled weakly, relishing the bliss of freedom. It was the first time he had felt a sense of peace in what seemed like ages.

He reopened his eyes after a moment, and proceeded to clamber down the tree. His feet ached from the injuries, and his leg seemed to be near giving out. "Water," he whispered dryly. He had no remaining energy to run after days of evading the guardsmen of Riften. He limped on, submerging himself further and further into the woods, praying to the Divines and hoping for a chance to stumble across some water somewhere.

Through the trees, the sun continued to beat down on the boy, weakening him even more to a point of pure exhaustion. He staggered and fell loudly to the ground, lying in a crumpled heap. Unseen birds continued to sing their melodies high above, but all else was silent and tranquil. He listened intently to the beautiful songs they sang to one another, noting particular patterns and noises they made. He listened even more attentively. A faint, trickling sound immediately roused him from his fatigue, and he scrambled to get up, stumbling in the direction of the flow of water.

It began to grow louder and louder until he reached the edge of a small stream. The water trickled over rocks and sticks as it traveled down its path. His appetence for water overwhelmed him, and he rushed to the water's side, lapping hungrily at the flowing drink. After a few moments, he had finally satisfied his quenched thirst, he threw his head back, his hair sopping wet, gasping in delight.

The cold chill of a blade glided along the soft skin of his neck, and he immediately froze in terror. His eyes darted around; trying to identify the unknown danger, fearing it was a guard. His body shivered at the blade's touch, and the stranger spoke. "Don't you move, boy, or I'll slice your throat and watch you bleed. Understand?" he asked coldly. His voice was deep and very ominous. The boy sat trembling with fright. He made no audible answer, and did not move. The blade pressed tighter against his skin. "You best answer me when I speak to you, lad!" he spat. In an unsteady voice, he managed to squeak, "Yes."

"If I see you move without being told, I'll make sure this blade finds its mark." He patted the boy's neck with the flat end of the blade. "You do as I say. Nod if you understand," the man spoke sternly. The boy nodded frantically. "Your hands, behind your back, now," the man commanded. The boy quickly complied and did as he was told. "Stand and face me slowly," he growled.

The boy did as he was commanded and slowly rose to his feet. His leg throbbed with pain, and he fell back to his knees. He could not summon the courage to lift his head to meet the gaze of the man who stood before him. He stared blankly downwards, focusing on the thick, fur boots the man possessed. The tip of the blade fell just under his chin, and slowly, it carried his head upwards. The boy's fearful, dark eyes met those of an older bearded man, his own extremely piercing.

His eyes scanned the boy for every little detail. His ivory colored brow furrowed, and he resumed his piercing glance. "Who are you? State your intentions, boy!" he demanded.

The helpless teen focused his eyes on the man in closer detail, and to his relief (and dismay), he noticed it was not a guard. The man appeared to be around his middle years, with a fairly trimmed graying beard and azure eyes. A large, fur coat was draped over him. He wondered if the man had it made from a cave bear fur. He also knew that if so, it would certainly reveal that this man was particularly dangerous.

The man knelt down to one knee, the blade following down to the boy's exposed neck. His face was only inches away. The boy was sure this man could easily hear his fear within the loud beating of his heart. "You WILL answer," he instructed. The boy swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat. With all the courage he could summon, he answered, "I'm just a boy. I have no home." The man raised a brow. "Please, do not kill me!" he pleaded. He noticed his eyes began to water, and a single tear rolled down his grungy face, collecting the dirt and other filth as it rolled down his cheek and plummeted towards the ground. He bowed his head in shame.

The man studied the child as he processed this newfound information. "Where did you come from?" he prodded on. The younger male froze, desperately racking his brain for anything viable besides the truth. The man's left hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his chin, pulling him closer to his face. He could feel the warmth from his breath brush his face as he articulated through gritted teeth, "WHERE did YOU come from?" Unable to come up with a reasonable response, he spoke the first idea that came to his racing mind. "I came from nowhere." The man shook the boys head forcefully, spitting angrily, "Do NOT lie to me, boy! I know a fib when I hear one!" The boy's heart continued to pound on like a mighty war drum, his fear now overwhelming, clouding his judgment. He broke into a silent sob, his entire body heaving as he gasped for air, tears now cascading down his face.

The mighty brute raised his sword arm, his weapon ready to strike, when the boy screamed in retaliation, finally revealing his hidden truth. "Riften!" he cried. "I… I am from Riften." His hands had moved quickly to defend him from the sharp sting of the blade; however, the man's swing had come to a steady halt. He lowered it, the tip now resting on the ground. "Where is your family, lad?" he inquired further. "I have no family." the boy confessed in between sobs. The man waited a moment, pondering his next move. "You're from the Orphanage, then, yes?" he asked indifferently. The boy did not answer audibly, but sniffed and gave a slight nod to confirm.

"You've run off, that's against the law," he said, his tone very serious and menacing. "You cannot hope to survive out in this world alone at your age," he added dryly. He rose back to his feet, sheathing his drawn sword. "You will come with me. I will escort you back to the orphanage."

The boy's eyes widened in horror, and suddenly, he sprung up and shoved the man away forcefully. "NO!" he screamed in declaration. "I am not going back there to that… that BITCH!" His anger began to swell up inside, sustaining him with energy and strength. "I.. I WILL fight you," he stammered bravely. He raised his fists as if to validate his statement. The man looked at the boy incredulously, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of his sword.

"You will not argue," the man affirmed to him. He took a step towards the boy, his body slightly hunched in anticipation of an attack. The boy let out a roar and charged the man with every bit of strength he had. The stranger side-stepped and grabbed his arms, noticing to his surprise how strong the young male was. He looked into the fiery eyes of his young opponent, seeing nothing but a raging inferno of anger enveloping the lad.

The outlander smashed his knee hard into the abdominals of the crazed child. He only gritted his teeth in response and continued struggling. His knee met the boy's stomach a second time and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. Before he could recover, the foreigner drew his sword, and bashed the back end of the boy skull with the iron hilt, instantly knocking him unconscious. He lay on the ground, unmoving. The man nudged him with his foot, remaining vigilant to any possible movement. The child did not move. He knelt down beside him, and with some strain, flipped him over onto his back. He laid his head down gently on his chest, listening for a heartbeat. A rather slow pulse could be felt, and the man stood again.

He whistled a piercing sound that tore through the air. A few moments later, a large, brown horse came galloping up to the man, burdened with furs of various animals, as well as camping materials. He sheathed his sword, and bent down to pick up the boy. With great difficulty, he hoisted him onto his shoulders and onto the back of the horse. He then proceeded to remove leather strips from his leather pouch on his saddle, and restrained the boy, tying fierce knots of the hands and feet. The horse snorted in protest, but he man simply dismissed this and led the horse by its reigns. He began to whistle as they made their way, distancing themselves further and further from the stream, and as he did, the birds, too, began to sing along with him.


End file.
